Change
by PrinzessenDani
Summary: Changes are coming to Hogwarts. Snape picks up Harry to take him to Sirius', and something that happens inside Harry changes all the changes that are about to come. WIP SS/HP Slash.


A/N: This does not follow the original HP plot. This means that Sirius Black and Severus Snape are still alive. This story is HP/SS, a slash paring. If you don't like that paring OR don't like slash, then I advise you press the back button. Now. Reviewers will be loved; flamers will be eaten alive and dipped in onion soup. Enjoy.

--

"Five…" A soft, deadly whisper that had the hairs on the back of the boys neck stand up on end, and his motions visibly hurried through stiffened muscles that were fighting every instinct that told the sitting boy to get up and run out of that class. He knew he was going to fail despite the fact that he was now hurrying to get the bubbling green-goo like stuff in his cauldron to turn a light pink shade in five seconds or less. However, he knew he had to do this, or else he wouldn't be able to come and take this class next year, which was an unwise but needed thing to do.

With a downwards push on the handle that had the young boy grunt, the blade fell. The juices spurted wildly, but most of them stayed on the cutting board that held the thick, dry-looking root. Said boy glanced up worriedly at the glaring teacher who was hovering over his shoulder, and the boy drained the juice into the black, bubbling cauldron. He reminded himself that he needed to take this class if he was going to be an Auror, which he strived to become. "Four…."

The black haired boy stirred hurriedly in a counter-clockwise motion, breathing a little too hard: though with the heated gaze on the back on his neck he didn't know why no one else would have been sweating. A single bead of sweat drifted down the pale boy's cheek, closing in on his upper lip to hang for a moment, catching there. "Three…"

The ever-attentive beady eyes of the teacher watched that particular bead of sweat, his stare shifting to the slightly chapped lips of the boy who was sweating. "Two…"

His own tongue darted out and swiped his upper lip, as though wanting to catch that bead of sweat; though it wasn't on his face to catch. "One…."

Finally, the potion bubbled to a bright-pink color—a sigh of relief escaped the boys and his partner's lips—and the teacher frowned, yelling a harsh "Time!" into the dead-silent classroom, pivoting and letting his cloak billow out around him in an angry fashion. The black haired boy jumped slightly, putting his head down on the cool desk, trying to calm down and convince his body that it was alright.

The redhead that sat partnered to the boy with the black hair scoffed, glaring over his shoulder at the retreating teacher. A look of extreme antipathy on his features, "Loathsome, counting down the time like that!" He spat, glancing back at his friend with a pitiful look on his face, "Absolutely horrid git, isn't he, Harry?"

At the mention of his name, Harry looked up, frowning a little. He now felt was his teacher had been staring at, all the sweat that had collected on his upper lip. He was temped to lick it off, but instead the boy with black hair wiped the back of his palm across his upper lip, destroying all evidence that he had been sweating bullets under his teachers erotizing intent stare. "Y-yeah," was Harry's evasive response.

A girl with bushy brown-blonde hair turned to face the boys behind her, giving the red head a reproachful glare, and the boy tactfully switched topics, "Well, he—he didn't say anything, eh?" The boy with the black hair just shrugged his shoulders, looking at the girl who had just turned to face them. "Hermione," Harry said with a voice that was woebegone, "know any spells that will make Ron shut up?"

A small grin made its way onto Hermione's face, happy to see that Harry was feeling better, and she joked, "Well, Harry…" Ron just frowned at them.

They whispered among themselves for a few more minuets, the exam, for them, over. "I swear," Harry said in a harsh whisper, "Snape has got to be the most…most…" he struggled for a word that would describe the hated professor, when Hermione suggested, "Abhorrence?", and Harry could only add with a hint of laughter to his voice, for he didn't know what 'abhorrence' meant, "Abhorrence professor in history!"

Again, Ron brought up the topic of the said professor standing behind Harry, and counting down the time. "He was just trying to make Harry nervous," Hermione muttered, trying to pacify the boy while shooting a dirty look at Ron. "Yeah," Ron snorted, "That's it, Hermione; he was _just_ trying to make him fail! He should be glad that someone wasn't here watching to see him jip Harry out of finishing." Hermione just shook her head, and as much as she agreed with Ron's accusation of Snape, she couldn't bring herself to believe that 'just trying to make Harry fail' was the only reason that Snape had stared that way at Harry. Something told her that there had to be something else backing that stare up, and it wasn't just that Snape had been bullied by Harry's father.

In the background of their small talk, you could hear the cold voice of the teacher ring out around the class, criticizing the dreadful potions that hadn't been completed correctly in the insanely limited amount of time that had been given to them.

Snape flew past them, an expression of anger twisted onto his face, as he stalked to the head of the potion class. He stood, placing his palms facedown on his desk, eyes narrowed. "Most of you have passed this year…and if you failed," he sent a sneer of dislike in Harry's direction, "Then I don't expect to see you in this class again next year, for obviously for some," Another hate-filled stare directed at Harry, "Potions class is not your forte." After a few more minuets of silence, the professor dismissed the class with a flicker of his hand towards the door. The former quivering-in-their-seats-students gathered their belongings and shoved them in their bags, wanting to be out of the cold, heartless class as soon as humanly possibly. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were obviously some of those students wanting to be out of the class as swiftly as they could, practically ran out of the class. None of them caught the eyes of a certain snarky potions professor wandering up and down the body of a certain "Boy-Who-Lived".

--

It was dinnertime, the end of the school year feast. Red and gold flags hung around the room, the Gryffindor flags hanging around the room in celebration of them winning the house-cup. After a few hours of seemingly endless feasting, laughing and talking, Dumbledore stood tapping his glass with his wand. The entire hall hushed, heads turning to look at their headmaster. He took in a breath, and began his 'end-of-the-school-year-speech': "Another year has gone by, and I hope that you have learned as much as your head can hold this year. Your end-of-the-year exams will be full of all the information that you have learned, I hope."

There was a small muttering around the hall at this, some agreeing with a hopeful look, and others shaking their head sadly; despite this Dumbledore continued with a smile on his face as though nothing had happened. "You'll have an entire summer to go and get them empty again—though only to be filled again, alas the endless cycle."

A soft chuckle escaped his lips at this, as though it were some private joke, and he stared out at the quite great hall, a solemn look overcoming his face as he gazed out at the hall, "I wish to heed you however, that there will be a…change in arrangements next year. It is not for you to worry about at this point and time, though to let you know ahead of time to ward off all the shock that will come, it has been brought to my attention that that this upcoming change is necessary in order for this school to continue." After a few moments of shocked silence, a bright smile overtook Dumbledore's face and he said cheerily, "As always, I hope to see you safe and unharmed next year, coming back to resume your learning." The noise was deafening as the noise overtook the hall once again, celebrating the end of the school year.

As the students' belongings were emptied from their drawers, cabinets and other holdings, being packed and readied, the exam results were handed out. Hermione nearly passed out while struggling to open hers, Ron looking as though he might have swallowed a lemon as he shakily opened the letter, and Harry quickly scanning the results of his exams: A loud whoop passed his lips. He could have danced on the spot. He passed his needed classes. A large grin spread over his face as he turned to face his friends, Hermione was quivering, but smiling as she looked down at her grades and Ron, though pale, was also looking pleased.

"I'm guessing you both passed?" Hermione said teasingly as Harry continued to grin at her.

"You always do, 'Miney," Ron grumbled, though smiled through his words. Harry simply nodded at her. Hermione shoved her paper into Ron's hands, and took his; Harry led the way down to their final breakfast.

By the time they made it down the staircase and into the great hall, the couple was already bickering with each other over grades. Ron accusing Hermione on holding out on them during exam time, trying to coax out her special way of always getting awesome grades while Ron's didn't exactly plummet he was close and Hermione told Ron exhaustedly over and over again that she just studied and that if Ron wanted her grades then he should have been studying as hard as she had been.

Miffed with Hermione holding out on him, Ron turned to Harry as they sat at their table. "Lemme see yours' mate," He muttered, looking slightly cross, and snatched the result paper out of Harry's grip. The paper slashed across his finger, and Harry hissed quietly, wincing as his finger throbbed angrily. The small cut oozed a bit of blood, and it didn't escape Hermione's notice that several heads shot in their direction as the sent of Harry's blood crawled with alarming speed across the large room. Severus, however, was the first person's head to jerk up that caught her eye. She raised and eyebrow at him; though he didn't seem to see her, though his body tense and it was as though his eyes only had sight for Harry. There was no doubt in her mind that he was fixated on Harry's bleeding finger, and that the sent of his blood had done something to Harry. Ron, too, was looking at Harry in a most curious way—Hermione sniffed, tilting her head to the side, pondering in a way that made her look almost-cute, and then whispered a almost-silent cleaning and healing spell onto Harry's cut finger that he had just put in his mouth.

The boy took his finger out of his mouth, examining it for a moment before flashing Hermione a brilliant smile. "Thanks, Hermione. Flawless as always." Hermione blushed for a moment under his praise, laughing as though nothing had bothered her. And just like that everything was seemingly back to normal, though Hermione had already taken count of all the people that had turned in Harry's direction when his finger had been cut. She knew…that something big was bound to happen soon.

The Golden Trio boarded the train, and it was only till Hermione was sure that the Muffliato—despite her dislike of the Half-Blood Prince's curses—was in use before she told the boys what was on her mind. "I don't know exactly what's happening, but," she took a deep breath, and continued quickly, "I can bet you that something big is going to happen next year, I mean, did you hear what Dumbledore said at the feast last night?" She shook her head, as though she wondered why it hadn't perked anyone else's interests like it had hers, "But you know when Dumbledore's serious like that it means that something big is happening. I think, though, that it might have something to do with what happened in breakfast this morning."

She paused, waiting for either of the boys to catch on, and when it took a few minuets, she gave them an exasperated look and Harry blinked wildly. "You mean when I cut my finger?" She nodded eagerly and shot into another bout of explanation, "When you cut your finger, half of the people in the room looked towards you! And you hardly made any noise, I think it was the scent of your blood that drew them in—" At this, Ron made a slight choke, and rounded on Hermione, "Come off it, Hermione, you know that only vampires get off like that on the sent of blood!" He glowered at her for a moment before something seemed to dawn on him, and his mouth opened agape as he leaned back in his seat slowly. Harry and Hermione both jumped, looking at Ron with wide eyes, trying to understand what happened. Harry blinked, confused at Ron's odd behavior. He could tell that Ron knew something, but _what? _'_Vampires…?_' He thought to himself, frowning, '_They're coming to Hogwarts?'_ Harry pursed his lips in thought, doubting it. '_A change….that involved the students and bloodlust.'_ He sighed to himself, unable to figure it out.

Finally, Ron snapped out of whatever had taken over him, because of Hermione's shouting "Ron!" at the top of her lungs. Harry hadn't worried about her yelling, they did have the Muffliato spell to stop all sound from escaping their compartment. "Shaddap Hermione," Ron mumbled, and Hermione looked a little taken back, but followed the command none-the-less.

After another few minuets of awkward silence Hermione, clearly unable to contain herself, blurted out, "Well? What do you think is happening?" Just as Harry mumbled, "You alright?" Ron was looking a little ill, his face paler than usual and appearing to be a bit shaken, but he waved his hand in a 'don't-worry-about-it' motion as he answered, "I'm alright, don't worry about it. It wasn't all that important, what I was thinking about…Just have to check with mum about something…" he trailed off bleakly, and Harry and Hermione exchanged a look; Ron had to talk to Mrs. Wesley about something? That alone was suspicious.

"Come off it, Ron," Hermione huffed, "Just tell us!" Ron opened his mouth for a moment, spitting out a, "Well…uh….that is…," then seemed to catch himself and stopped, his hair matching the color of his face for a moment as he shook his head, then fixed Hermione with a firm glare, telling her 'no' stubbornly. Harry knew that trying to get Ron to say what he'd been thinking of was a lost cause at the moment, but Hermione seemed to be set on getting information that she didn't know from Ron, badgering and coaxing him; who, in return, clammed up further and refused to say anything. Hermione kept at it until Harry pulled her aside and told her that Ron would tell them when he felt like telling them. That seemed to shut her up and gave the bookworm something to think about while Ron passed Harry a grateful glance.

It was once again quite and awkward between the three, as thoughts seemed to consume their speech. It was getting dark outside when Hermione stood and mumbled something about 'Almost there. Get changed.' and left with her bag under her arm. The boys stood wearily, still being lost in thought, and stripped of their robes changing into their muggle clothing. Hermione returned a few moments after the boys sat down once again, looking a bit more cheerful. Pointless conversation swirled about until the cart woman came and asked them what they wanted to eat; Harry bought everything he could and shared it with his two thoughtful companions. While stuffing their faces with the last chocolate frogs and liquorish wands, they could feel the train pull into a stop. Ron stood the quickest of the three, grabbing his carry-on luggage and muttering, "Look, I don't like keeping things from you but Mum knows a lot about this…" he waved his arm around in the air for a moment before seeming to come up with a good word to describe what he was trying to say. "Stuff, and if it's not true, then I don't want to lead you all on some wild goose chase." he shot a meaning look at Hermione at this, and she turned slightly pink. "So when I get this all straightened out, I'll tell you by owl, or something." He left looking no better than he had a few hours ago on the train.

As he left, both Harry and Hermione nodded dumbly in his wake. Both more than confused then they had been in a while. They bid their goodbyes to one another, and left going separate ways, promising to write to one another under their breath. It was the weirdest departure they had ever had. Moreover, one that Harry was not soon likely to forget, ever.

--

Harry couldn't believe it, two days after he came back to the Dursleys, someone (though he didn't know who yet, though apparently it was someone he trusted) was going to come and pick him up that night. Harry bounced around excitedly on his already messy bed, eyes fixated on the letter he held in his hands. The letter itself was short, but the information in it was priceless.

'Mr. Potter,

I am pleased to inform you that someone you can trust will be picking you up tomorrow night at exactly 10 o'clock sharp. Please have all your belongings packed and ready. More information will be given on arrival and departure.

Best regards,

Professor Dumbledore'

Hedwig hooted from her perch above him, picking up her masters' excitement. Harry darted around his room, earlier he'd been too excited to get his things in order. His belongings were hardly unpacked, but it was now 9:58 and Harry scarcely believed that after a mere two days in their horrid company, he was leaving. He practically danced around the room, still not believing that he could be capable of such wondrous luck; he pinched himself. He winced in pain, and that confirmed that he wasn't dreaming after all. Seeing the clock turn to one minuet to ten out of the corner of his eye, Harry dashed around the room once again, gathering up all of his belongings and throwing them into the open trunk. He hadn't received one _note_ from Ron yet, not even a reply from his own letters. When he pestered Hermione about it; she said the same thing for her: Nothing from Ron. It was a bit depressing, but Harry had kept his hopes up until now. Maybe Ron would be at number twelve Grimmauld Place. He was in the process of retrieving the invisibility cloak from under the floorboard underneath his bed when the doorbell rang.

The excited grin on his face slipped off as he threw the cloak into his trunk with the rest of his belongings, and his heart plummeted to his stomach when he heard his Uncle's voice bellow out, "Who in the bloody hell would be ringing at this time of night?" In an obvious attempt at scaring away the late-night visitor. It was as though all the air was sucked from the room, which he resided, and Harry struggled to breathe for a moment: he'd forgotten to tell the Dursleys' that someone was coming to pick him up that night. He darted out of the room, almost not hearing a feed able hoot from his beloved owl for good luck as he left.

He had just jumped down the last couple of stairs when he heard, "Who in the seven hells are you?" And winced, Vernon wouldn't know anyone one he knew (or 'trusted' according to Dumbledore). He was on the verge of calling out and explaining the whole mess to his uncle when he heard a dangerously low, cool, yet velvety voice bit hello in a harsh way that Harry recognized with such a painful clarity that he stopped all motion: there was no mistake in identifying the owner of the voice. The well-known antagonist to his late father and his own loathed teacher, Servers Snape.

Harry rolled back on the heels of his feet, biting his lip. He took a deep breath through his nose and thought about the situation at hand. He knew that someone he trusted would be picking him up, but didn't Dumbledore know that Snape wasn't on his top five favorite people in the world? He rolled forward onto the balls of his feet, still in thought. Obviously, Harry had not made it clear enough to him this year, and the last, and a few before that, that he did not like Snape. Nor did he trust him.

He jumped literally at the sound of his uncle's bellow, "Boy! One of your _lot_ is here!" he sounded outraged. Harry sighed and clamped his lips together, in a attempt to keep that words—that were sure to get him in trouble with Snape later— tucked away. Taking a few steps forward, he found himself in the living room where to his left a livid and purple-faced uncle Vernon stood facing the poker-faced Snape who was a few feet ahead of him. He cleared this throat, a sound that caught both men's' attention, and as Snape turned his eyes to Harry, Harry swore that he could find a hint of amusement in those dark tunnels. Forcing himself to pull his gaze away from Snape, before he got lost in the dark tunnels, he turned his attention to his uncle. "A-about that….," he managed a small grin that was obviously forced, "I forgot—," a snort of believe from the potion's master, "To tell you that I'm leaving tonight."

A flood of emotions ran though his uncle's face: anger, understanding, anger, and after what looked like a hard time deciding what emotion to play next, _happiness_. A large grin broke out on Mr.Dursley's face, and he turned to Snape, his voice a little strangled, as though not daring to believe it, "Your taking him then?"

The pale man looked a bit disgusted that a muggle was addressing him, but managed to nod. Harry clapped his hands together, once again gaining the attention of both men, eager to leave this place so he could see his Godfather, "I need to get my stuff."

Snape stared at him for a moment, as though contemplating a serious matter (Harry wondered if he had something on his face) and finally nodded in dismissal to the 'Boy-Who-Lived'.

Without a second glace backwards at Snape or his uncle, Harry dashed up the stairs two at a time. Hedwig hooted, much stronger this time, when he stepped into Dudley's old room— his room for the past almost five years. He shot a glance at the owl, now the last thin on his reeling thoughts. He held up her cage to her, then rested it on his bed in a wordless command that she needed to get into the cage. Closing the stunk that was packed with everything magical and non-magical that he owned, he reflected a bit. Why had Snape come to pick him up? He felt a twinge of regret from somewhere deep inside himself that was calling out to make itself known now; though not even his deepest thoughts could tell him why he was feeling regretful that he was thinking so hatefully about Snape being the one to pick him up. He hadn't felt this way before when he thought about Snape in a hostile tone, had he? With a small, unsure jerk of his head, he sighed.

A rather loud, high-pitched screech followed by the sound of breaking glass started Harry from his thoughts as he jumped to his feet. Green eyes wide, he silently wondered if he really cared if Snape did something awful to the Dursleys. Heartbeat slowing considerably, he decided that no, he decided that no, he wouldn't care if his potion's teacher did something awful to the dreadful people that he lived with. He really didn't like either of them, though some part of his crazed mind was reaching out to Snape, wondering if he was alright, and something told him that Snape was safe, and he shook his head at these new, bizarre tellings. He took a Hedwig-loaded cage in one hand and his trunk in the other—his wand in his back pocket— he slowly dragged the heavy trunk behind him, clambering down the stairs to see what all the ruckus was about.

Shocked would be an understatement to describe how Harry felt when he reached the bottom of the stairs— even Hedwig seemed to have large, shocked amber eyes as they both watched a boney, horsy Petunia yell at Severus, shaking her tiny fists at him. He a good foot and a half taller than the woman yelling at him. Even before Harry had gotten down the flight of steps, Snape was staring at him. It seemed that either Snape had heard him coming down the stairs or he was just staring at him because he didn't find getting yelled at by Harry's aunt all that entertaining. Harry guessed that it was the latter, as it was nearly impossible to hear anything else above his aunts shrieking. Harry caught snippets of what she was saying, as she was unable to finish her sentences. There was a broken plate, smashed to pieces, by her feet.

"How _dare _you—! Coming back—! After Lily—! Harry—! Awful, vile, _creature_—! You should be ashamed—!" And then she was cut off by a placid Snape who called out to harry in that attention-demanding, barely warmer than a whisper voice, "You made me wait longer than I wanted to, Potter. I suppose you packed your things while you were up there, dawdling?" Harry flushed under this false accusation, whilst his aunt continued to scream about Snape being in her house. His eyes seemed to never leave Harry thought his question, running up and down Harry's almost-adult body—and Harry got the oddest feeling that his potion's teacher was _checking him out_, and he, Harry, actually _liked that idea_. He blushed a deeper red, prying his gaze from Snape and onto his ranting aunt Petunia. There had to be something wrong with him; he'd ask Sirius about it when he saw his Godfather. Saying a hasty goodbye, Harry and Snape left the Dursleys, leaving Petunia yelling about how she didn't want to see him come back, and they left the house, leaving a raw-throated, teary-eyed Mrs. Dursley in there wake.

"S-sir," Harry began, daring to glance up at a sneering Snape as he stuttered—he was about to say 'Snape', but decided that in light of recent situations that 'Sir' would be better tonight; as Snape was his escort. "Will we be flying or appariting to Grimmauld Place?"

"Appariting." Snape said coolly, lip curling. Harry sighed, looking to the side as he held his luggage tighter. "Put your things down, Potter," He continued acting as though he hadn't seen Harry clutch his things in an almost-possessive manner. Hesitantly, Harry did as told, watching Hedwig. Snape strode over to Harry's things, unlatching the owl's cage to let her fly into the night—Harry bit his lip to stop himself from calling out, begging her to come back: his only friend thought this journey was now gone. Snape then waved his wand lazily over Harry's trunk and now empty owl cage, making it all disappear.

Snape then turned to a clearly uncertain harry, and looking impassive as always, though he had the slightest smirk on his face, he held out his hand. "Take my hand. Physical contact is necessary if you wish to make it alive." Harry frowned, and gently grasped his teacher's hand. The potion's master rolled his eyes, hissing at a surprised Harry, "A tighter grip is necessary, Potter, as much as you might not wish it so."

Glancing up at the snarky teacher, Harry wet his lips nervously. Meeting the teacher's harsh gaze, Harry found himself willingly tightening his grasp around the older man's long, cold fingers.

Snape caught the flash of pink that danced upon the younger's' lips, and he found himself having to force his mind away from tempting thoughts that had to do with his student's tongue—he'd save them to push into the unwilling boy's mind later. As way of punishment. When Harry's hand tightened around his own, he felt a breath of relieve pass his lips, relaxing into the touch. The soft flesh that Potter exposed to him was too inviting, not to mention the aromatic sent of the boy's vital fluid…he knew it wouldn't' be long now. And, most likely, by the way the younger boy before him was blushing, he was experiencing similar symptoms; that Albus knew he couldn't avoid for long.

Harry watched his professor, being drawing into the captivating cold tunnels, and was wondering i_what the hell_/i was wrong with him. Quite irksome to think such erotic, sensual images about the looming man who stood before him, who had his hand in his grasp, without knowing the cause of it all. He blushed again, feeling himself harden just from those lustful thoughts, and instead of feeling mortified (as he should have, is what he told himself) he merely felt sheepish.

After a few minuets of there staring contest, Snape said something in that velvety voice of his that caught Harry's interest, though he was speaking so low it was hard to hear all of what he said. "Hold me….Potter." Was all Harry caught as Snape pulled the younger boy to his chest (Harry felt his boner come back again) and Harry caught whiff of a scent that had come from a love potion, that smelt different for each person, according to what attracts them—cool, sweet yet musky; definitely masculine—and it was gone. Replaced by a sensation of being squeezed through a small, tight rubber tube, and then, he was able to breath.


End file.
